Photo by Palm Sunday of the Lord’s Passion
The story we heard today is not new. We have heard and read it before, many times. We have seen it portrayed in shocking detail in prose and poetry, painting and sculpture, radio and film. We are familiar with what happened, where, and when. And as we ponder the commission of a most horrible crime, appalling, gruesome, and evil, we think we know who bears responsibility for this tragedy, both in the context of human history and ultimately in the unsearchable design of God. We know against whom this great evil was committed, how it affected those who witnessed it first-hand, those who claimed to be his friends, and those who professed to be his enemies. We know how it all ends, and the reasons we cling to hope. And we think we grasp why it happened as it did.
The account of our Lord’s passion comes to us this year from the gospel of Luke. Luke’s perspective is uniquely different from the other gospels. He might relate some of the same events as the other evangelists in all their raw intensity, but Luke does not intend to inspire anger and vengeance against the Lord’s persecutors, nor shame against his friends who fled the scene. Although he points out with disturbing clarity how awful was Jesus’ suffering and death, Luke portrays for us a savior, innocent, and blameless, whose primary mission was to bring healing, forgiveness, and reconciliation. Jesus is the healer of disrupted lives, comforting and forgiving to the very end of his own life, who came to bring about our reconciliation with God by his own horrible death at the hands of sinful humanity. He directs our attention to the depth of the heart of God, who, become flesh in the person of Jesus Christ, would spare no expense to repair the damage caused by sin in the universe, above all between our human family and the One in whose image we are all created.
It is from Luke that we read the tender stories of Jesus’ childhood, his coming announced by an angel, his birth in the middle of the night far from home amid great poverty and rejection, the prophet Simeon telling of the suffering he was to endure, his childhood spent in the obscurity of Nazareth. It is from Luke that we encounter the gentleness of Jesus, and his tremendous compassion for sinners, the poor, and the outcast. It is from Luke that we hear the parables of the lost sheep, the lost coin, and the lost son, to show us the grandeur of God’s mercy and the depth of the heart of God.
Luke’s account of the passion gives us many wonderful details as well. In the confusion at the garden of Gethsemane, for instance, Jesus stops to heal the servant whose ear was cut off. Although Peter denies knowing him three times, Jesus manages to catch his eye to remind him he would recover and strengthen his brothers. He is dragged before Pilate and Herod for questioning, and they who used to be enemies are reconciled with each other. On the road to Calvary, he pauses to comfort the women who were grieving for him. While on the cross, he prays for forgiveness for his enemies, and promises paradise to one of the thieves crucified with him. All the way to the end, he shows compassion for sinners, the poor, and the outcast. All the way to the end, he shows us the grandeur of God’s mercy and the depth of the heart of God.
So what does God ask of us? Certainly not our pity, nor even any promise we would turn from our evil ways. God desires to encounter us and to give us a share of his own life. God wants an intimate friendship with us. If it helps to read his book, fine. But God isn’t asking us to have an intimate friendship with a book. There’s a difference between knowing a friend intimately and knowing intimate things about that friend. The church invites us to see the thread of God’s compassion weaving in and out of the story of Jesus. Without a doubt, our sins and our transgressions contributed to his suffering. But Luke paints for us a picture of the tragic Savior who is the very face of the mercy of God. And it is precisely God’s great mercy and compassion that shines a light to scatter the darkness, that reconciles the human family to God and to one another, and that heals our broken world.
Rolo B Castillo © 2025